Page 102 of Auctioned to My Bratva Boss

I glanced at the camera in the corner. Had he been watching me the whole time?

Watching me work with my head down, forgetting to hydrate. Then sending warm milk to my desk in that clumsy, domineering way of his.

Just like before, in his office.

"Thank you," I told Miranda.

But my heart had already floated up to the man on the top floor.

He'd never changed. I should have realized sooner.

From that day on, my life felt like it had been tuned to a sickeningly sweet channel.

Every morning when I opened my office door, a massive bouquet waited on my desk. Hyacinths, roses, lilies of the valley... different every day, like he'd bought out every florist in the city.

"Matvey," I teased him one afternoon when he came to take me to lunch. "Did you corner the entire New York flower market? Keep this up, and other girls won't have any left for Valentine's Day."

"That's their boyfriends' problem." He raised an eyebrow, smoothing a strand of hair from my forehead. "What's it got to do with me?"

"You're impossible."

"Didn't you tell me to prove my love with actions?" He leaned close to my ear, his voice taking on that dangerous edge. "I've got to keep earning chances to show you."

His warm breath ghosted across my ear, sending shivers through me. I jerked my head away, only to crash into those grey-green eyes full of laughter.

For a moment, I felt dizzy. Was this really the cold, ruthless bratva pakhan who never took no for an answer? But it was him. Trying so hard to win my approval.

That afternoon, he didn't take me back to the office. Instead, he brought me somewhere I never expected.

A private tattoo studio.

"You're getting a tattoo?" I was surprised.

He already had extensive ink—I didn't think he'd add more.

"Yeah." He unbuttoned his shirt slowly. "Something important."

As each button came undone, his familiar chest came into view—scarred, tattooed, and devastatingly his.

My gaze locked on the still-healing wound.

The scar from when he'd taken that bullet for me. Vicious and deep, right beside his heart. Every time I saw it, pain lanced through my chest.

The tattoo artist had his equipment ready. But Matvey didn't lie down. Instead, he reached for my hand.

"Come here."

Dazed, I let him pull me close.

He pressed my palm against his chest, right beside that scar, directly over his heart. His heartbeat pulsed through my skin, steady and strong.

"I love you, Riley." His voice dropped low, his gaze burning into mine.

The tattoo artist's mask couldn't hide his amused smile. My spine tingled. I tried to pull away.

The needle descended.

I held my breath as it traced across his skin, stroke by stroke, carving a name into his flesh.